


love u all year round

by RosebudBasilton



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 04:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20002186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosebudBasilton/pseuds/RosebudBasilton
Summary: Simon never used to look at Baz. Now, he can't imagine a world without him.





	love u all year round

**Author's Note:**

> anyone else gay in this chillis tonight??

I never noticed his profile when we were fighting.

Whenever I looked at Baz before, all I saw was red. Rage was a blind, damning thing. Had it not been for the reprieve, where our truce blossomed to friendship (though we'd never admit it), I may have never notice the way his eyes looked golden in the sunset's finest hour, or how his lips pouted so softly when he was idle and concentrating. He would zone out, his gaze absent, and I would catalogue every detail of his face before he noticed.

Most notably, I committed his nose to memory.

It sounds silly, maybe, but it was so handsome. Regal. He looked like a king with a profile like that, someone who deserved to be commemorated on a coin or a stamp. Basilton - yes, that name was regal, too.

In our downtime, at his house, I would let my mind wander down what used to be an impossible track. I daydreamed days together in the summer, wherebhe would smile at me unabashedly and maybe kiss my cheek if we were ever to be that friendly. I imagined him in the sun, on a beach, head thrown back and exposing his neck in an act of utter defience to everything quintessentially 'vampire'. I would have take a photo of that.

I imagined him in the autumn, bundled up in a smart coat with slim, posh trousers, and boots that no doubt had a name-brand on the sole. Then again, I had seen him swamped in large school scarves before, something of a ritual that the football team had done for his rite of passage into captaincy. It was easy to picture him like that again, wearing warm colours and baggy sweaters, curled up on his couch with a mug of tea. I would have taken a picture of that, too.

In the winter, he would be in front of the fireplace again, just like before. We would be on the floor, holding hands, maybe even leaning on each other. He would be talking about things I don't really understand (his mates, the football team, the drama of his very extended family). His eyes would be closed, one arm thrown above his head, the other laying closer to me. With the amber glow of the fire illuminating that profile, it woukd have been rude not to take a photo.

And then the spring, which I imagine is his favourite season. I could see the loose shirts with necklines that go down, down, down his pale chest, all light colours and soft patterns that match his mock-silver rings. Linen pants and lightweight flat shoes - if he looked like an expensive businessman before, he was a retired vineyard owner in the spring. He would sit by a window and rest his head against the glass, staring down his nose into the barrel of my camera, lips glossed and jutting out, posing for me, because by then he'd know he's my muse.

He's sitting down the other end of the couch in my apartment, now. He's reading a book. It's spring and I've realised how truly beautiful he is.

"Hey," I beckon.

Baz looks up, a smile languidly growing on his lips.

"You look good," I say.

He snorts, scrunching up his nose. A bookmark is placed on his page and he moves eagerly to cuddle me. 

"Never leave me, Simon Snow," he jokes as he holds my hand.

Though I'm not joking when I reply, I can't help but chuckle softly at him. I stroke his hair gently. "I won't."

**Author's Note:**

> i had to write this into existence before wayward son kills me. it's soft and dumb. im officially back on my bullshit.


End file.
